Just A Little Spicy
by Prophetic Fire
Summary: It's been fifteen years, and Dogma and Fives are still having the same argument. Fondly. An Elysian Fields story.


"I can't eat your cooking, you know that."

"You only say 'can't' because you're afraid of the challenge."

"Did you make it spicy again?"

"Hey, you're welcome to cook next time."

"Fives, even _I_ can't eat my own cooking. That's why you cook. I just wish you wouldn't make it so spicy all the time."

"There was a time when you lived on only ration bars."

"Yes but ration bars aren't _spicy._ "

Fives settled back in his chair and chuckled. "Dogma, how many times are we going to have this argument?"

Dogma, as he always did, folded his arms and stuck his nose in the air. "As many times as it takes until you stop feeding me spicy food."

"You want a ration bar instead?" Fives asked. "Think I might still have one tucked away." He started to get up, as if actually going to look for one. Dogma's expression turned horrified.

"That thing would be _fifteen years old._ "

"Well, they weren't supposed to go bad, were they?" Fives winked.

Dogma sputtered helplessly for a moment, before pursing his lips and huffing out his indignation.

Fives chuckled again, unable to hide the fondness that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He watched Dogma pick up the spoon and push the noodles carefully around in the bowl. Sighing, he scooted his own bowl closer for Dogma to see.

"Look, all the pepper flakes are in my bowl. I didn't put any in yours. Happy?"

Dogma took an aggravatingly extended period of time to examine the two bowls, before nodding satisfactorily and spooning up a small amount of broth. "It's good," he finally stated. "I can eat this."

Fives pulled his own bowl back and dug in hungrily. Of course it was good. He'd learned how to make it good. He'd been an ARC trooper after all; he could do anything he set his mind to. Except baking. After all these years, he still couldn't get a soufflé to rise like Dogma could. They'd come to the understanding years ago that if something needed cooking, it would be Fives, and if something needed baking, it would be Dogma. Dogma couldn't season for shit, but he made perfect muffins.

Fives thought back over their years together. They'd started out tentative at first, after that chance meeting in the park on Naboo, both desperate to not be alone but also so jagged in how they fit together. Then Order 66 had happened, and…well he'd been right about the chips. But Dogma had never gotten his removed. It was touch-and-go for a while, and there'd been a lot of fighting, and Fives had to physically restrain Dogma until the back-alley surgeon could sedate him. The violent hatred in Dogma's eyes had haunted Fives. But when he came to, wide-eyed and shaking, he'd collapsed into Fives' arms, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, whispering _"thank you, thank you"_ over and over again. Dogma had described it later as being like trapped inside his own mind, having control sometimes and then being pushed away at any moment by something large and dark and cold. Fives' heart still ached to think of it. All the brothers he couldn't save. But he had at least saved one.

They'd kept their heads down after that, making their way into the countryside, before eventually settling in a tiny farming village snugged up against the base of the mountains. They'd found an old stone cottage on the outskirts of town, abandoned and run-down, and with a lot of work, begun restoring it. What the locals had thought of them––two almost identical men, young enough but already world-weary around the eyes––whether they had known the two of them were clones or not, Fives was never sure. Maybe they'd considered them refugees. But they'd gotten food and supplies by offering their services working the fields, and before long their little cottage was warm and snug. They'd started a vegetable patch, and begun keeping a few nunas in the pen out back. Only for eggs. Neither one of them had been able to stomach the idea of killing anything anymore, even for food. It wasn't easy, but it was living. Finally, really living.

Dogma wasn't Echo. Dogma didn't fit against Fives like a missing piece. And Dogma wasn't Tup, settling around him with a fluid ease. But Dogma balanced him, he'd come to learn. Buzzkill, Fives might have said once. But Dogma's steady insistence on structure and routine kept Fives grounded in a way he didn't know he needed. And as the years went on, Fives watched Dogma slowly shed his rigid, brittle shell. The first time Dogma smiled, really genuinely smiled, it took Fives' breath away. He'd never thought, given their rocky start in the hell that was Umbara, that _Dogma_ would be the place he called home. But here they were.

Fives slurped on his noodles, watching Dogma out of the corner of his eye. The afternoon light shone warmly off his smooth scalp. Dogma's hair had gone white first, and he'd started shaving it off completely when he turned twenty. He'd been ashamed to show the scar from his chip removal, but eventually he wore it like a badge of honor. Fives had kept his goatee and crew cut, though it had finally turned silver as well. He ran a hand through it while continuing to watch Dogma through his lashes. Years of hearty, real food had softened Dogma ever so slightly, filling out the creases that age tried to etch into his face. The laugh lines though, those grew deeper every day.

"What do you _want?"_ Dogma asked suddenly.

Fives shoved the last of his noodles into his mouth, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

"You're watching me."

Fives shrugged and swigged down most of the broth left in his bowl. "Wanted to see if you liked the soup."

Dogma squinted at him suspiciously. "It's fine, thank you."

"Good!" Fives stood, smiling. "I'm full though; maybe you can help me finish?" With lightning speed, he reached out and tipped the last of his broth into Dogma's bowl. Dogma gave a shriek and tried to bat Fives' hand away.

"Whaaat," Fives drawled, "you said you liked it."

"There is _spice_ in here!" Dogma hissed, glaring.

Fives just chuckled and leaned down to kiss Dogma on the temple. Dogma pouted.

Fives drew back and walked to the sink to put his bowl down. But out of the corner of his eye, he caught Dogma slowly stirring the spicy broth into the rest of his soup, a soft smile blooming on his face.


End file.
